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The Mother Wound.
{Jenny Slate, from Little Weirds. Me, from Clean Out Your Inbox. Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited (1945) Franny Choi, Bad Daughter. Anne Carson, Sophocles “Elektra" translation. Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless. Jeannette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? Mary Oliver, When Did It Happen?}
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More from Pincers on my Substack. <3
[Rage is a quiet thing
You think that you've tamed it
But it's just lying in wait
Oh, rage
Is it in my veins?
Feel it in my face when
When I least expect it]
The meat tenderiser is broken
-necked so, I must soften
the beef with my father’s
hands, marrow-thick
with knowledge
the meat must be beaten
brutal into tenderness.
That anybody softens
with violence.
Another morning and I wake with thirst for the goodness I do not have.
Rage & it’s violence.
— portrait taken from @rawrrkiyomi (1) Mad Honey Symposium, Sally Wen Mao. (2) Anais Nin. (3) Venetian Smile by Richard Burlet (4) Simmer from Petals for Armour by Hayley Williams. (5) Cover art for the florence + the machine/ethel cain collab Morning Elvis by Peegpin. (6) Wound from the mouth of a wound, Torrin A. Greathouse. Thirst, Mary Oliver. (7) Mark Rothko, Untitled, 1952 (8)
© 1998 Kate Rothko Prizel & Christopher Rothko/Artists Rights Society (ARS)
Synonyms for “i love you”
“I chewed nine consecutive sticks of gum, to remind myself I was still alive”
— The Idiot, Elif Batuman
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Rage as rot. Rage as raising your voice when you should’ve whispered. Rage as whispering when you should’ve raised your voice. Rage as mustard seeds fallen on barren ground. Rage. Abundant and plentiful. Rage, a cocoon I make for myself. “Chrysalis” wetting my lips.
— Anne Carson, Norma Jean Baker of Troy
I am writing because I seek understanding, not because I have come to some decisive conclusion, and can now use hindsight to shape the experience into a narrative. My present life (the now that surrounds the writing but isn’t the act) is perforated by intense desires and the reactive emotions that rise to meet them.
— from my latest personal essay Losing My Favourite Game (yes like The Cardigans song)
